


Lessons in Simulation

by eff_reality



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/pseuds/eff_reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night out, a tipsy Pine and Quinto stumble upon a showing of <i>This Means War</i> on Showtime.  Discussion of awkward sex scene ensues.  As do other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Simulation

Zach flops down on Chris’ couch, back slouched and legs bent and splayed, arms thrown above his head. Chris mirrors him at the opposite end, groaning as one thick arm shoots out to fumble for the remote. Zach’s gaze drifts lazily to the screen as the guide appears, too bright and colorful, Chris scrolling through the channels, mindless and fast. At least four margaritas are making a ring of fire in his gut, reminding him that it’s too early to be sober but too late to be giddy.

He’s rarely in L.A. these days, and when he is, he rarely engages in nights like these, hours spent clubhopping along Sunset with Chris (Chris engages in nights like these even more rarely). Four a.m. finds them both pleasantly exhausted but still too keyed up to actually go to bed, so they both sit nearly catatonic on the couch.

“Wait. Stop,” Zach deftly seizes the remote from Chris, his coordination totally defying how he’s feeling. He moves the cursor to a showing of _This Means War_ on Showtime, highlighting it. “Oh my God, it’s that movie with Chris Pine,” he says, appropriate fangirl voice in full effect.

Chris giggles. “Shut up.”

“He’s so dreamy.” Zach turns it on.

Chris groans. “Could we not?”

“What? I like it. It’s fun.”

Chris lets out what sounds like a tiger’s growl (a baby tiger at best) and scrubs his hands over his face. He keeps his eyes shut, arms going limp in surrender. 

Zach watches him for a long moment before turning back to the screen, where his and Reese’s characters are out on a date. “You know,” he snuggles further into the back of the sofa, “I never understood why Reese picks you at the end.”

Chris’ jaw drops but his eyes remain closed. “ _Hey._ ” He throws a halfhearted punch at Zach’s side.

“I’m sorry, but Tom Hardy’s character is clearly the better man.”

Chris hums in agreement and opens his eyes to look at his own image critically. “He has the better body, too.”

“Stop,” Zach quickly chides. “Don’t get me started on the merits of your ass again. Your ego won’t survive.”

Chris grins, blushing a little. He tilts his head, watching the scene play out for a few moments, groaning again, predictably. “The awkwardness of filming this is all coming back to me.” On screen, he and Reese have finished their date, and he’s walked her to her door. Zach smiles knowingly. “Secondhand embarrassment,” Chris mutters. 

“I don’t think you can get secondhand embarrassment from yourself.” Zach shifts on the couch as he continues to watch, anticipating what comes next. “The sex scene was awkward? You mean apart from just... sex scene awkwardness?”

“It was fucking awful, man.” Chris turns full-body to face Zach, the clumsiness of the move making Zach snicker. He’s clearly readying himself for storytime. “Okay. I was extremely hung up on being respectful to Reese, you know? She’s in a very vulnerable position, having to take her clothes off in front of what’s essentially a room full of guys.”

“Such a feminist.”

“Shutthefuckup,” Chris inhales, continuing without missing a beat. “Anyway, so I was being very careful in how I _moved_ , if you know what I mean—”

“I do.”

“—so I’m leaving room for the Holy Spirit even while we’re making out, which I quickly realize is making for the most awkward sex scene on the planet. Reese keeps laughing and we keep having to cut, she’s asking if I’m okay, probably thinking I’ve already come in my pants at this point. So then I realize, ‘Holy shit, I’m being a terrible actor right now. I can’t be worrying about this. My job is to make this as real as possible.’” Chris sits up straight, suddenly energized, and scoots to the edge of the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna use you as my dummy.”

“I resent that term, sir.”

“Okay, simulated fucktoy.” 

In one swift move, Chris has flung a leg over Zach’s lap, straddling him, his navy blue henley gaping in the front. “Oh, dear,” Zach says, looking up at Chris as he hovers, breathless in his excitement, Zach’s own legs still sprawled.

Chris takes a peek at the screen behind him before glancing down at Zach’s long, lazy form. “Could you try looking like more of a lady now, please?” Zach lowers his hands to his lap and bats his eyes. “And like you want to fuck me.” Chris shifts awkwardly, still clearly navigating the mechanics of his impending demonstration in his head.

“You know, if I didn’t know you were straight, I might be questioning your motives right now,” Zach drawls.

Chris actually flinches. “I’m not totally straight, we’ve talked about this.” 

“ _Mancrushes_ ,” Zach carefully—very carefully—sits up so he and Chris are closer to eye level, “none of which has ever been acted upon—in any way—don’t count, Christopher. We’ve talked about this,” he adds, just for extra mockery.

Chris pouts and furrows his brow not unlike a scolded five year-old. “Maybe I’m waiting for the right guy. Can’t give my flower away to just anyone.” 

This finally succeeds in making Zach giggle, though it’s more in disbelief than genuine amusement. “Oh my God, show me what you wanted to show me.”

“Okay, so.” He twists in Zach’s lap for another look at the TV. “Here, where we’re by the door making out—”

“Mm hmm.” Zach’s eyes drop to the lines in Chris’ stomach, entirely visible through his thin shirt as his abs fuse to hold him in position.

“—eventually, I was able to discipline myself to just shut my brain off and fucking go for it. So I got _really_ into it.”

“I can see that,” Zach says, glancing at the screen again just as Chris’ tongue snakes out to lick at Reese’s mouth.

“Okay, so watch for the part where we get on the counter.” Chris gets to his feet, shifting his legs so they’re now bracketed by Zach’s.

Zach obeys, though he certainly doesn’t have to; he’s familiar with it. Chris is suddenly closer, the scent of him catching the air. Zach sits up more so he can spread his legs wider, make room.

Chris’ hands are now braced on either side of Zach’s shoulders, pressing into the back of the couch, bearing his weight as he lowers himself between Zach’s thighs, electric in his warmth. “I’m obviously hard at this point because I’m only human, but I no longer have the presence of mind to be careful about it.”

“Right.” Zach feels Chris’ breath gust over his face.

“So I just—” Chris finishes the sentence by dropping his weight. 

He’s not totally hard now (neither is Zach; he can be extremely disciplined when he wants to be), but Zach can feel every inch of him all the same, right against the inside of his thigh, and it’s too much all at once. He feels his face go hot.

“And she fucking _freaks out_ ,” Chris laughs, ducking his head against Zach’s shoulder. “I think she must’ve been conditioned to think that I meant business, like I wouldn’t be able to stop myself at that point.” Chris lifts up and lowers his knees to a straddle again. Zach releases his breath. “Believe me, though, I had no plans to sully her virtue.”

“Of course.” Zach reaches down and adjusts himself when Chris glances back at the TV again. 

“Still: super fucking awkward, man.”

Zach follows his gaze, watching Chris’ big, square hand as it glides up the length of Reese’s outer thigh. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t worry about it. Whatever you did works. You know? So.”

Chris slowly, playfully turns back to him, something in Zach’s voice prompting a reaction. “Is this... turning you on? It is, isn’t it?” He palms Zach’s cheeks with a resounding slap, eyes going wide as he feels the flush of his skin. “ _You’re blushing._ ”

Zach quickly grabs his hands, holding them suspended in the air. “I had a very frustrating night, okay? That fucking guy at the Roxy was grinding with me for five songs, and not even a—”

“ _I didn’t mean to turn you o-o-on_ ,” Chris sings, ridiculously, shimmying a little.

“...Is that the original or the remake?” Actually, Zach is perplexed that Chris knows any version of the song at all. Then again, nothing should surprise him about Chris at this point.

“Remake,” Chris says, snaking his torso right, then left, before demonstrating a bit of Mariah’s whistle register, very poorly.

Zach finally drops his hands. “You know, Robert Palmer did a cover of that song.”

“‘Addicted to Love’ Robert Palmer?” Chris’ face scrunches up. “Really?” He’s still dancing.

Zach grips his hips hard, stilling them. “Stop... wriggling. Please. I’m dying and you are not helping.”

The sex scene (if you could even call it that—it’s a little too staged for Zach’s taste) is, thankfully, long over, but Chris is still straddling his goddamn lap.

“How come you’ve never—?” flies out of Chris’ mouth.

Zach assumes it’s Chris’ own shame that’s stopped him from finishing the question. Still, he knows what the rest of it would have been. “You know my history. I don’t try to fuck straight guys.”

“I just told you, I’m not.” Chris is indignant. “And even early on, when we first met, when you didn’t know—”

“I always knew,” Zach dismisses. 

Chris looks oddly hurt. “What?”

“Come on, Chris, look at you.” Zach gestures wildly over the body that’s propped on top of him.

“Zachary, are you stereotyping me?” Chris crosses his arms. They stiffen and bulge in a way that makes Zach’s head fall back against the couch.

He sighs. “You look like every guy I ever had a crush on in high school—and college. You fit the profile to a tee.” He ticks points of persuasion off on his fingers. “Athletic, waspy boyish looks, insane body, an odd proclivity for sleeping with women—”

“But that’s not fair. I’m not them.”

Zach sighs again, relenting, his guilt warring with a vicious need to protect himself. “I know you’re not. You’re really not.” One of his hands comes to rest on Chris’ waist, his thumb friendly and soothing over his shirt. “That’s what makes it so difficult. Why are we even talking about this? And why are you still sitting right here?” He gives a fond, exasperated giggle and pinches his side.

Chris ignores the question in favor of leveling Zach with his eyes. “I would, with you, you know.”

Zach’s hand drops and his eyes bug out of his head. “Would what, with me? Choose your words carefully, please.”

“I would... _be_ with you, if you wanted to.”

“ _What?_ ” Zach goes to physically remove him from his lap. “Chris, don’t—”

“ _No_ ,” Chris starts, grabbing at his hands and tightening the already mean grip his thighs have on the outside of Zach’s. “I’m not offering this just for you, that would be such bullshit, I would never do that.”

Zach goes still, making it clear he isn’t going to fight. Chris drops his hands. After a long, perplexed moment, he asks, “Are you attracted to me?” Even hearing the words out of his own mouth, they’re so completely ludicrous, it’s going to take his brain at least another hour to fully catch up. 

Chris nods wordlessly, his eyes soft and vulnerable and absurdly fucking blue, and Zach doesn’t know whether to kiss him or strangle him. He does neither; instead, he waits for him to elaborate—because he’d better fucking elaborate. He’s about to say as much, when Chris licks his lips and starts talking again.

“I think I have been for a long time; I just wasn’t ready for the idea of what it meant.” He gets very caught up in articulating himself, gesticulating as always. “It’s _stupid_ how much fun we have together, how deliriously happy I am when I’m with you. You have to know that by now.”

Somewhere in his mind, Zach is thinking how the fuck is this conversation happening at four a.m.? Then: how the fuck is this conversation even happening at all?

“And you’re just... stunning,” Chris says, matter-of-factly, pushing his fingers through Zach’s hair where it’s long on top, sending goosebumps down his spine when his pinkie grazes the nape of his neck. “The way you fill a room. You’re so comfortable and confident, so steady. Sometimes I feel like I have to put on this... I don’t know. But you don’t have to. You never have to. You just _are_.” 

Zach smiles wide, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “This is insane,” he mutters. 

“Are _you_ attracted to _me_?” Chris’ hand still plays at the short hair at the base of his skull.

The breath rushes out of Zach, all of his carefully constructed defenses quickly disintegrating. “You know I am.”

Chris smiles, that slow, soft, close-mouthed smile that Zach loves and is perhaps even more familiar to him than his own at this point. “Then fuck it: we’re both single. Why not?”

Zach opens his mouth, ready with somewhere in the vicinity of fifty billion logical responses to that question. 

Chris is quick to cover said mouth with his free hand. “No, forget that I said that. Let’s just—stick with the fact that I’m attracted to you and you’re attracted to me.” Chris can’t help but smile again, as if speaking those words is like reliving their twin confessions. “Don’t overthink it.” His hand slides over Zach’s lips, his chin, and then off of his face completely.

“Easy said for the two of us,” Zach smiles, wanting Chris’ hand anywhere near his mouth again so he can do something to it.

“ _I’m_ ready to write it off as a bit of drunken fun.” Chris sits back on his haunches, smug.

“I’m not that drunk,” Zach laments. 

“Good.” Chris’ body goes taut, his fingers pushing through Zach’s hair again. He leans in. “I don’t want you to be completely useless.”

And that implies much more than kissing. Zach’s voice goes shaky. “Chris.”

Chris pauses inches from Zach’s face. “No.” He actually points a finger at him in reprimand, which makes Zach break. He giggles. “No thinking.” Chris braces his hands on either side of Zach’s head. “Does this thing have an off switch?”

Zach glances down between their bodies. “You’re disturbingly close to it, actually.”

“Good.” Chris glances down, too, then raises his eyes as he sinks down just so, their cocks lining up and pressing full and hot against each other through the rough material of his jeans and Zach’s dress pants. “I’m pretty sure I know how it works.” He rolls his hips, eyes vibrant and full of intent, mouth open and pink and wet. 

“ _Jesus_ , Chris.”

“Kiss me,” Chris says, single-minded, his voice like smoke drifting over gravel.

Zach angles his face up, pulling Chris down by the open flaps of his shirt, fitting their mouths together and accepting the immediate curl of Chris’ tongue with a surprised little noise. Chris’ fingers push up against the grain of his stubble, his hips still circling restlessly against his own. His face flushes as Zach’s hands slide down to his belt and use it to drag them together again, hard. 

Chris’ teeth give Zach’s bottom lip a gentle twist. “You’re still thinking.”

“I can’t help it, I—” _Think this is fucking crazy. Can’t decide what I want to do with you first. Never thought this would even be a possibility, ever._

“Pretend it’s a love scene,” Chris urges, dipping his face into Zach’s neck to suck there, right under his ear.

Zach’s eyes roll back. He smiles, remembering that he _had_ mentioned his neck thing to Chris, back during principal for the first _Trek_ , he thinks. “Really?” he teases.

“Sex scene,” Chris corrects himself, his mouth right next to Zach’s ear now, pouty lips brushing the lobe on consonants. “Only we’re actually going to.” He pulls back to watch for Zach’s reaction. Zach’s surprised his head is still attached to his fucking neck at this point. “It’ll be like _In the Realm of the Senses._ Total arthouse fare.” He shifts his ass back, sitting closer to Zach’s knees, reaching down and dragging a firm thumb along the ridge of his dick. “Don’t worry: I’m not planning on doing any violence to this. That would definitely spoil the fun.”

Zach brushes a distracted kiss over his mouth, already missing the feel of it against his own. “You know, you’d be much more convincing if you stopped talking.”

And just like that, Chris does. In fact, he stops moving, too, eyes hopeful and expectant, a stunning show of obeisance that makes Zach instantly insane.

Zach exhales in a hard huff. “Fuck, just—” He grabs Chris by the shirt again and manhandles him sideways, onto his back on the sofa, neck resting on the arm, legs splayed and button-fly nearly ready to peel apart on its own with how hard he is now. Zach rises to his knees, hovering for only a moment to take in the full image before he pushes Chris’ henley up from the hem with both hands and chases it with his mouth. His tongue follows the lines of Chris’ stomach, the muscles defined but not unnatural-looking, the skin over them so warm and still a bit musky from their long night out. He glances up at Chris, smirking at the overwhelmed expression on his face before scraping his teeth over the skin at his side, leaving it pink with marks. 

Chris lets out this breathy, impatient little noise, and his hand slips down to palm at his cock over his jeans, his knuckles softly bumping Zach’s chin along the way. Zach grabs for that hand and presses it into the cushion near Chris’ shoulder. Chris’ back arches just so, his shirt now bunched under his armpits so his long torso is on full display. He inhales, unsure as Zach’s other hand brushes down his inner thigh and cups the back of his knee, gripping it and using it to bend his leg as far as it will go. Chris’ eyes go dark and wide and he licks his lips, his bravado instantly gone. 

“You’ve never—” Zach starts knowingly.

“No.”

“Do you want—” Zach manages to ask, sincerely, though in just a few minutes he may not have the presence of mind to do so.

“I don’t...”

Zach can’t tell how Chris means to finish that sentence, though he isn’t sure Chris knows just now, either. “We don’t have to,” he says. _Keep things simple._

“Okay,” Chris says quickly, sounding relieved. Zach’s hand slides out from its place sandwiched between the back of his thigh and calf, follows his inseam, the heel eventually pushing up against his balls, palm and fingers folding over the entirety of him. Chris’ brows pinch together, his mouth dropping open but making no noise. The fingers of Chris’ own hand twitch and flex against the scratchy material of the couch, under the weight of Zach’s other.

“Is this what you want?” Zach asks. He sounds cool and measured, belying the shitstorm of emotions coursing through his veins, the thrill of feeling Chris’ heavy heat right there in his fucking hand. Chris nods wildly, his hips shifting, rolling to meet the pressure of Zach’s palm, the opposite of measured. It makes Zach wonder if Chris is incapable of hiding what he’s feeling or if he just has no interest in doing so. He isn’t sure which would be more satisfying to him. 

Chris writhes again, the fingers of his free hand pushing in that dip between the tendons at the back of Zach’s neck and curling, giving a gentle tug on his hair. When Zach slithers up for another kiss, Chris’ knees spread open and his ankles hook around the backs of his calves, pulling him in like a Venus flytrap. Zach’s still got that one hand trapped beneath his own, though he no longer has to work to keep it still, their ten fingers now threaded together. Chris’ mouth glistens enticingly as they pull apart.

“I want some answers first, Captain.”

“Okay.” Chris smirks at the title. 

The hand in Zach’s hair slides down with purpose, over his shoulder blade, into the dip in the small of his back, and fits itself into the back pocket of his pants. Zach extracts it immediately, pressing it into the couch cushion on the other side of Chris’ head, and circles his hips precisely, knees anchoring him on the couch between the diamond of Chris’ legs. 

The force of the move pushes Chris a bit higher, his head dipping back slightly over the sofa arm. “ _Fuck._ Ask away.”

“When you’ve thought about this,” Zach nudges his nose against Chris’ chin, pushing it aside so he can flick his tongue over his neck, “what have you thought about? What do I do to you, in your head?”

The question inspires a violent shiver from Chris, which only makes Zach bare his teeth—though he knows better than to leave marks this high, so he grazes them down to a pink nipple and sets them in there. “I,” Chris breathes, arching into Zach’s mouth. 

Zach glances up, watching Chris’ eyes dart around. He can tell that he’s searching for the perfect reply, and that he’s got tons of responses to choose from, all true. Zach wants all of them, though, every goddamn fleeting thought Chris may have had about the two of them together like this. “Keep in mind,” Zach murmurs against his skin while tightening his grip on both hands, “I would do anything to you.” He dips lower and licks through the trail of hair extending down from Chris’ navel. “Anything.” 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Chris grunts, looking down as he pushes his crotch up against Zach’s chin. When Zach doesn’t release him, he lowers his hips back down to the couch with a whimper. His eyes clench shut. “I thought of you... sucking my cock,” he exhales.

Zach puffs a cloud of hot air over Chris’ belt buckle before lunging up to bury his face in his neck. “Keep going.”

Chris turns to him blindly, smearing a hot kiss across his mouth. His eyes are doubly unfocused up close. “I pictured it happening at one of those clubs in Berlin—the one with the cages. Pictured it happening on the dance floor, in the middle of all those people we didn’t know, who didn’t speak our language.”

His words are oddly and, of course, characteristically poetic. Zach smiles and sucks his pouty bottom lip into his mouth. “That’s so cliche; I love it.” He finally releases one of Chris’ hands, freeing his own up to slide down to his belt and go to work. Chris’ head jerks a little as he glances down to watch. Zach brushes wet kisses over the stubble at his jaw. “What do I look like? With my mouth on you.”

Chris bites his lip as his belt comes undone, the two tan halves curling up awkwardly from the loops at the front of his jeans. “Hungry.” His voice sounds ragged now. “Desperate.”

“Grateful?” Zach tears his fly apart one-handed, the force prompting an open-mouthed gasp from Chris. Zach watches, transfixed, as that gorgeous bulge is revealed between the triangle of denim, cradled by baby blue cotton under a Ralph Lauren logo.

“Yes.” Chris swallows. “Like you’ve been dying to taste it. Taste me.”

“I have,” Zach confesses, thoroughly unable to help himself. His thumb circles over the wet spot on Chris’ boxer briefs, indicating the head of his cock.

“ _Zach_ , pl—”

There’s ample room for him to reach under the waistband and pull Chris’ cock out, so he does, without hesitation, his fingers gripping the warm, velvet skin as if it’s their only chance. They both peer down at Zach’s fist wrapped around him, heads tilted toward each other, the image shocking them both into deep, heavy breaths. 

Chris turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “No turning back.”

Zach can’t help but huff a laugh into his neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

Chris yanks him up for a hard, urging kiss that’s so convincing it has Zach rising to his knees immediately. Zach pulls away, hovering again, hands drifting down Chris’ chest and stomach, his clothing all hastily ruched aside like a partially unwrapped gift. He can’t decide if he wants to keep him that way or finish the job. Chris’ arms reach back to drape over the sofa arm, completing only the most gorgeous fucking presentation Zach has ever seen. 

Zach reaches for Chris’ belt, using the buckle to pull it from around Chris’ hips and let it drop to the floor. Chris is already pushing his jeans down over his thighs, legs shifting gracelessly until Zach lends a hand, pulling them down past his calves and off the ends of his feet. “Is it just me or do your jeans getting tighter and tighter every time I see you?”

Chris manages to knee him gently in the side while pulling off his shirt and throwing it into the distance. “Asshole. This is the thinnest I’ve been in years.”

Zach slaps a hand over his eyes, the other rubbing Chris’ thigh in reassurance as he laughs. “I just meant that pretty soon I’m going to have to pass on the hipster crown, as it were.” He tries to compose himself, but the incredulous look on Chris’ face only makes him laugh harder. “You’re such a woman sometimes, I can’t even… Did I kill the mood?”

“YES.” Chris crosses his arms over his chest, playing affronted.

“Aw.” Zach reaches for one of Chris’ hands, pressing a kiss to his wrist and then the center of his palm. “Would it help if I told you how…” His eyes scan over Chris’ form. “... _absurdly_ good you look right now?”

“Maybe,” Chris says, his voice already breathy again as he watches Zach start to mouth at his fingers. His other hand splays wide over his ribs.

“That you’re the most painfully sexy man I’ve ever seen in my life—”

“Nice hyperbole,” Chris drawls, though more color rises to his already flushed cheeks.

“—and that if I had no limitations, I wouldn’t know where to start.” Zach curls his tongue around Chris’ thumb. “Or finish.”

Chris’ eyes move from his mouth to his own eyes, and for a moment Zach wonders if he’s said too much, if Chris is suddenly going to turn very sober and very freaked out. Instead, he drapes his arm behind him again and murmurs, “Where do you want to finish?”

Zach growls and bites the fleshy part of Chris’ hand before placing it gently on the back of his own head. “You first.”

He wraps his hands around Chris’ waist, shifting his body just to watch it move, and dips his head, licking the material over Chris’ cock into his mouth, between his teeth, and letting it snap gently back against him. _Shit_ , he thinks he hears Chris whisper as his hand clenches a little in his hair. Zach runs his nose along the base of him. He can smell Chris now, utterly masculine and perfect, though definitely unique to him, instantly propelling his fingers to hook into his waistband and pull down. 

Zach’s mouth actually waters at the sight of Chris’ cock up close, flushed red and thick, curving up against his tummy, a thin film of pearly moisture smeared across the head. Zach pulls his boxer briefs roughly down, just under his balls, giving him enough room to work, and curls his fingers around the shaft so he can suck the head right into his mouth and lave his tongue across the slit. 

Chris is clearly taken off guard, his fingers going tight in Zach’s hair and his jaw dropping around a throaty, surprised moan. “Fuck, Zach.”

Zach has pictured this, too, amongst many other things, mainly how Chris would be—and Chris isn’t disappointing. He’s just as responsive, in body and voice, as he is when they’re sharing a scene together. Both of his hands dig into Zach’s hair, pushing and pulling this way and that, leaving it a complete fucking mess as Zach’s mouth slides expertly down, getting him wet, and then back up, in no rush. Chris’ hips circle up into his face on the retreat, until Zach gets a hold of them and pushes them back down to the couch cushion.

“Jesus, you’re good at that,” Chris gasps, half-apology and half-explanation. 

Zach pulls his mouth off and strokes Chris slow and firm with one hand, the other still anchoring him at the hip. “Lots of practice.”

“Slut.”

Zach lifts a judgmental eyebrow and gives Chris a once-over. “If you could see yourself right now…”

“Shut up and suck my dick, Zachary.” The way he smirks down at him is more Kirk than Chris.

“Hmm.” Zach feigns contemplation as he reaches down to run his fingers over and under Chris’ balls. “No. I don’t think so. I have something else in mind.” Chris freezes, and Zach lets out a throaty laugh. “Not that. Don’t worry. Turn over. I promise I won’t—”

“Okay, I trust you,” Chris says quickly as he gets onto his stomach. 

Zach’s eyes fall to his bare ass, plush and a bit marked up from the rough fabric of the couch, the waistband of his boxer briefs stretched across his thighs. He exhales heavily, audibly.

Chris giggles, a blush blossoming on his face and extending to his shoulderblades. “I trust you,” he singsongs. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Zach says, lowering his hand to one cheek and giving it a light tap before gripping it hard, pushing it up, revealing the intriguing dusk of Chris’ hole. Chris lets out a little moan. “You have no idea,” Zach starts, shifting Chris again, pushing and pulling at his bare legs and settling himself between them, “how much this ass has tormented me over the years.” Zach’s own body is too long to not hang awkwardly off the end of the couch, but the discomfort is a small price to pay to be face to face with all that gorgeous flushed flesh. “In case you were wondering what I’ve thought about,” he grips Chris’ cheeks with both hands, elbows resting comfortably just on the outside of his thighs, “this is definitely in the top three.”

Zach pushes Chris’ cheeks apart just enough to breathe him in, then sneaks his tongue just behind his balls (at which Chris jumps), working his way up from there, over the ridges of his entrance, up to the top of his crack. Chris is already panting, shaking with the effort of tensing his muscles. “Relax,” Zach whispers, squeezing his palms around him and working up the saliva in his mouth before dipping his head again to get him nice and wet. 

Chris exhales in disbelief. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he moans, awed, ass muscles tensing under Zach’s hands again as he starts trying to rub himself off on the couch. “ _Fuck_ , that feels so—”

“Mm,” Zach answers, painting licks over his hole and finally dipping his tongue inside, spreading his cheeks wider and pushing his knees apart with his elbows, the boxer briefs clearly stretched to shit at this point. He can feel Chris’ lungs stop working altogether as he wriggles his tongue inside, deep, silky, and wet, until finally he lets out a long groan on Zach’s retreat.

“Don’t stop, keep doing that,” Chris says, his voice high and the words strung together like an army of paper dolls. Zach peers up at Chris’ face, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. After a moment, Chris reaches down and actually smacks Zach’s forearm. “Please. Please. Now. Please.”

Zach lets out a dirty giggle as he descends again, working his tongue messily up and down Chris’ crack before sliding home again, pulsing mercilessly until Chris’ moans go breathy and high-pitched. He stops to wipe at his mouth and take a breath, pillowing his cheek on Chris’ upper thigh and gripping his asscheeks just to keep giving him some stimulation. He speaks quietly. “Chris, it’s taking every ounce of discipline I have to not fuck you right now.” 

Zach expects a tense moment of contemplation—or discomfort—but Chris’ response is immediate: “Use your fingers.” 

The breath rushes out of him. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He sucks his own fingers into his mouth, then, thinking better of it, flattens himself over Chris’ back and offers them over his shoulder to his gaping mouth. Chris is all enthusiasm and no technique, eager to continue, his teeth sliding over Zach’s middle and index fingers just as much as his lips and tongue. The corners of his mouth become wet with spittle. Zach grinds his hips against Chris’ bare ass, annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to remove his own pants. “God, I could come just watching this. Your mouth is pornographic.”

Chris smiles as Zach finally pulls his fingers from his mouth and shifts onto his side, configuring himself between Chris’ near-naked form and the back of the sofa. His digits drag down the cleft of Chris’ ass and gently ease inside of him, one and then the other. This isn’t in the name of preparation, so Zach takes his time, works his way up to really driving Chris crazy.

“Do you remember that hotel in Paris?” Zach babbles. “The one with the little cafe attached to the lobby, with the sandwiches you liked?”

Chris can only answer with a vaguely affirmative moan.

“Remember how they had those honey straws for tea, and you took a bunch with you on interviews ‘cause you knew you’d need to feed every hour on the hour—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chris breathes, legs shifting uncomfortably as he tries to work himself back onto Zach’s fingers harder and faster.

“I had to watch you eat those straws all fucking day, cracking them open with your teeth and getting honey all over your fucking lips, and licking your lips, all morning, all afternoon. You were so exhausted you didn’t even realize how lewd you looked. I thought I’d go insane.” He braces his forehead against Chris’ shoulder, his arm burning with the effort of fingering him. He watches where his wrist disappears behind the peachy globes of Chris’ ass, tendons working as he gives up this extended tease and finds Chris’ spot, licking his own lips and smiling in triumph when every muscle in Chris’ body goes taut against him, his face screwing up in pleasure. He pulls his fingers nearly all the way out of Chris.

“Oh my _fuck_ ,” Chris practically chokes. “Please, _please_ don’t stop.” He gasps as Zach thrusts both fingers back in, glancing right over that spot again, his own nails scratching over the sofa arm at the lightning buzz it sends through him.

Zach’s eyes go wide, greedy at this display, his fingers merciless, redoubling their efforts and magically losing any sense of discomfort as Chris shamelessly rocks himself back and forth from Zach’s powerful hand to the pressure of the couch cushion underneath him. Zach lowers his mouth to Chris’ ear and talks him through it, egging him on. “You _do_ want me to fuck you, don’t you? You want it so badly you can taste it.”

“I do,” Chris whispers fiercely.

“You’re scared, though. You’re scared of how much you’ll like it. If I can do this to you with just my two fingers, imagine what I can do to you with my cock.”

Chris nearly sobs, unbearably close now.

“I’d make you forget everything you’ve ever known,” Zach whispers, and it’s a promise, one that sends Chris careening over the edge, grunting and fucking himself into the couch, probably ruining it for all eternity.

He clearly doesn’t care one bit, either, because he’s barely caught his breath before he’s risen to his knees and flipped Zach onto his back, tearing at his pants until his cock springs free, dripping hard. “You magnificent fucking asshole,” he mutters before licking his palm and wrapping his fingers around Zach’s dick. Zach sighs heavily in relief as Chris leans over him so they’re face to face, propping himself up with his free hand next to Zach’s shoulder. 

“How’s it feel?” Chris drawls, still panting, and Zach is about to answer when he continues. “You just ate out the school quarterback.”

Zach’s jaw drops around a moan.

“Fingered the homecoming king until he saw stars and came harder than he’s come in years.”

Chris’ hand has very little grace, but that’s what so effective about it, the filthy, frantic drive in it that matches Zach’s own perfectly just now.

“ _Chris_.”

“What?” Chris teases, smirking as he jerks him hard and fast, watching Zach’s face intently as he comes apart. “Wait.” He presses a firm kiss to Zach’s lips before he shifts down between his thighs. “In my mouth.” Zach’s fingers grip the upholstery beneath him hard.

Chris has barely had his mouth on him for three or four passes when Zach starts coming hard, Chris’ throat working hard to take it all. He rises to his knees, watching Zach again as he breathes heavily, eyes barely open. He coughs a little, clears his throat, wipes at the side of his mouth, one tender hand dropping to one of Zach’s thighs. “Holy shit.” He licks at his lips, clearly searching for more of Zach, and if Zach hadn’t just come harder than _he_ has in years, he’d have just had a major aftershock. 

“Yes. Holy shit.” Zach stares up at him, wanting desperately to kiss him again, wondering if that would even be welcome, even so soon after, wondering if this will be the last he’ll ever see of this side of Chris. 

But then Chris slinks down and kisses _him_ , wet and playful, mouth all kinds of swollen and tasting of Zach himself. He collapses onto Zach, nudging his face into his neck, fingers crawling into the collar of Zach’s shirt to play with his chest hair. 

Zach smacks his hand, grinning, though he feels a bit sad. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Chris answers, smiling right back.


End file.
